Lunch Hour
by Tique
Summary: Pam is at the breaking point.
1. Don't Knock the Sandwich

_ This is my first attempt at Office fanfiction. I hope it isn't too awful! I'll probably update more, particularly if people seem to like it. Thanks for reading! _

He glanced over to her for the third time in—what, a minute now—and allowed his eyes to linger just slightly longer than usual. Her face was tense as she spoke on the phone and without his knowledge, his body echoed that, his shoulders rising, jaw clenching with a mixture of empathy and jealousy. He wondered who she was talking to, who was making her so upset.

"We'll talk about it when I get home, Roy."

Roy, of course. Part of him knew that. He experienced a peculiar joy at this latest example of how very wrong Roy was for her, then chastised himself for feeling that way. When she hung up the phone, she looked over at him, and he could only smile weakly, sympathetically. But he didn't go to her desk to comfort her even though his entire core burned to do so. It seemed wrong, somehow. He almost couldn't give her advice anymore, because everything he said had begun to drip with his own desire for her to end the engagement, and that wasn't right. He was biased.

Pam was beside him suddenly. "Want to go out for lunch?"

His eyebrows arched. An unspoken question about her regular lunch partner hung in the air, and he wondered whether he should pretend that he hadn't heard her heated phone discussion.

"I—need some time away from here today. Besides," she laughed nervously. "I'm in the mood for something other than a sandwich."

"Hey," he said, standing and smiling. "Don't knock the sandwich. The sandwich has gotten me through almost every lunch hour in the past three years."

She rolled her eyes. "I know. God, you're dumb." She went to get her coat from behind her desk. "Ready?"

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They didn't go to Chili's—they'd had enough of it to last quite a long time anyway, and Pam wasn't _ really _ allowed there anymore.

"If we really wanted Chili's, I'd be willing to risk the horrible consequences of sneaking in and getting caught," she said, leaning back against the passenger seat of Jim's car. "I mean, what are the odds they'd recognize me from my driver's license photo? It's at least five years old, and I'm wearing glasses in it anyway."

"Lemme see."

She started to refuse, then reached for her purse and took it out, handed it to him. He smiled at it a little too fondly, looked at it a little too long, and that made her nervous. She yanked it back with a shaky laugh. "Pretty dorky, huh?"

"You look…nice in glasses." _ Nice. That's a good, innocuous verb. _

"Um, so, anyway, they wouldn't recognize me, I bet…if we wanted to go."

"But we don't, right?"

She shook her head. "Naah. What do you think they'd do to me anyway? You know, if they caught me."

"I don't know. Death row, probably." He shrugged. "Or maybe just a fine."

She giggled. "Yeah, I think that's more likely."

They smiled at each other for a moment before Jim cleared his throat.

"Anyway. Where _ do _ we want to go?"

She glanced at her watch. "We're running out of time. Let's just try that new place down the road."

"'Kay." He started the car and she found herself studying his forearm as he turned the key, the skin left uncovered by his just barely rolled-up sleeves. It looked soft, and his muscles moved slightly, smoothly. Then Roy's arms entered her mind, just slightly too pudgy and too hairy for her tastes. She'd always liked men's arms…

Her heart jumped and she looked quickly at her shoes, trying to focus on how white they were and how clean she kept them. That led her to more thoughts she knew she shouldn't have, thoughts of the Dundies and her award and how she'd hugged everyone. _ You didn't just _ hug _ everyone, you know. There's a certain someone you didn't just— _

Her own voice broke her reverie as she forced out the first words that came to mind. "I hope this place is good."

"Huh? Oh, yeah."

Pam smiled inwardly. _ Looks like I wasn't the only one lost in thought. _ She didn't allow herself to wonder what he was thinking about. The bland scenery of Scranton sped by for a scant few minutes before Jim pulled into the parking lot of the new restaurant.

"Looks pretty empty in there," he said.

"Looks pretty _ closed _ in there," Pam corrected. She turned in her seat. "I'm sorry. I thought I saw a 'Now Open' sign this morning."

"Don't worry about it." He leaned back. "Now what? We've got…half an hour left."

She bit her lips. "I'm not really hungry anyway."

"Me either," he lied.

They sat in silence, their usual flow of conversation blocked by words they could not say. The next time Jim looked over at her, her chin was trembling and he wasn't sure why.

"Pam," he whispered. He placed his hand on her shoulder with as much pressure as he dared. She shook her head, kept her eyes on her lap. "Pam, what's wrong?"

"Plenty," she croaked. She looked up at Jim, her eyes wide and surprised at the broken sound of her own voice, and burst into tears.

He held her while she sobbed, hating her pain but loving the way she felt in his arms. His face fell forward into her hair and he didn't stop himself from breathing in deeply, relishing her scent. "It's okay…it's okay."

It wasn't, of course.

"He isn't right for me, Jim, he isn't! He's very, very wrong!" Her sobs were muffled in the fabric of his shirt, her tears beginning to soak through to the skin.

"Yes, he is." He was amazed at how level he sounded, how calm.

She looked up at him suddenly, eyes wild and pleading. "Don't let me marry him. Please don't let me marry him." In a few minutes she knew she would regain composure and pretend it had never happened; she'd pretend it was cold feet and pre-wedding day jitters, and she'd be trapped again.

He took her shoulders and held her with firm hands, staring directly into her eyes. "I won't let you marry him, Pam."

She collapsed in his arms, leaning in the awkward position the car allowed for, and felt her soul refilling her body. "Thank you," she murmured.


	2. Is This Okay?

A big thank you to the people who already reviewed! I really appreciate it!

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The next day she walked in with Roy, who kissed her on the cheek as she sat down at her desk. She smiled at him as he left and Jim was troubled to see a familiar sadness in her eyes. He allowed a few minutes to go by—a few long, agonizing minutes—before getting up and going to her desk.

He leaned in close. "When are you going to tell him, Pam?"

She kept her eyes on her desk, her voice low. "Tell him what?"

Jim sighed and glanced around the office briefly. "You know what. You made me promise. I can't break a promise." Had he promised? He couldn't remember. He'd meant to.

She looked up at him. "I've changed my mind."

"No, you haven't."

Her jaw clenched. "_Yes_, I have."

"Fine." He stood up straight, walked back to his desk. Once there, he couldn't help but look over at her. She was staring intently at her monitor, face stony.

------------------------------------------

The morning was long, unpleasant. When Roy came up from the warehouse to meet her for lunch, she felt ill and told him so. "I'm going to stay at my desk. Maybe take a nap. Okay?"

"Again? Babe, what is with you lately? You aren't still mad about yesterday, are you?"

Yesterday.

She smiled and found she could say honestly that she was not. "Don't be silly. I'm just nervous and worn out…about the wedding and all."

Roy laughed. "Sure, I know. All right. See you at 5, babe." He offered Jim a grin of camaraderie on his way out. "_Women_!"

"Heh, yeah." He wasn't even sure what he was agreeing with, but it was typical Roy-banter and he'd learned that if he just grinned and nodded, it would go away.

She watched Roy walk out of the office before speaking. "Tonight."

Jim was taking a sandwich out of his desk drawer. "What?"

"I'll tell him tonight." Her face was still turned towards the exit, her eyes still glued to the spot where Roy had turned the corner.

Deep breath. He nodded slowly. "Good."

"I feel better now. I want food." Suddenly she felt voracious, which was so completely _wrong_. She should feel nauseated still, sick with the thought of what she had to do.

"Split my sandwich?"

"There won't be enough for you," she argued, but it was feeble and she didn't mean it. She stood before he could even respond, pulled her desk chair over to him and sat down. He was tearing the sandwich in half.

"You could have used a knife, you caveman," she giggled.

He looked around. "Where am I going to get a knife around here? You don't mean the plastic knives in the breakroom, do you? 'Cause those couldn't cut—"

One of her hands was in her lap, idly holding her half of the sandwich. The other was suddenly on his own as he lifted it to his mouth, stroking slowly at the skin on the back of his left hand lightly but so deliberately that it frightened him a little—frightened _her_ a little, he could see that much. Their eyes met and hers were wide, his questioning.

She was tracing the slight impressions of his veins, following them down to the base of his wrist with soft fingers. "Is this okay?"

He nodded slowly. "This is okay."

She moved closer to him so that their knees touched, then closer.

He put the sandwich down, reached for her face to touch it with tenative fingertips, trailing them down slowly to her jaw, brushing his thumb across her lips so lightly that he barely knew that he'd done it. Part of his mind begged him to kiss her now, another more rational part forbade it. Then he felt her hand on his leg, on his thigh, and his mind agreed with itself completely as he leaned forward quickly to press his lips against her own. It was every bit as good as he could have possibly imagined. No, a thousand times better. Infinity times. His hand went for her blouse, fingering the buttons briefly before he remembered where they were. And then…

"Oh my god!"

The pair leaped backwards so fast that Pam almost fell out of her chair. Kelly stood before them, jaw dropped practically to the floor. "Oh my god, you two…!" Her mouth moved noiselessly, frantically. She was, for once, at loss for words.

"Oh my god!" she cried one more time, running to her desk.

Pam was panicking, face red. Jim stood and went to Kelly, trying to steady his voice and failing. "You can't tell anybody anything."

"Sure, sure." She was rifling through papers at her desk at an alarmingly pointless rate. "I won't. You're just lucky it was me and not Michael or Dwight or _ Angela_."

_Or Roy. What were we thinking? What was_I_ thinking?_

"Or _Roy_!" Kelly gasped, covering her open mouth with one hand. "Oh Jim! Now, part of me is really glad you went for it—it's so romantic in a Harlequin Romancey sort of way, but—oh Jim! I mean, everyone _knows _ you like her and probably that she likes you but there's no way you can act on it now, not with the wedding coming up and all! And Roy! Who's going to tell Roy?"

"No one is gonna tell Roy." He glanced back at Pam, who was sitting in the desk chair, face in her hands. "The engagement's off. And you're not gonna tell anyone about that either, okay? Just between you and me and Pam."

Kelly looked delighted to be entrusted with a secret. "Of course, Jim. Between me and you and Pam." She pantomimed locking her lips, throwing away the key. "You can totally trust me."

He released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Thank you. Thank you so much."


	3. Be Strong for Me

_ Okay, so I'm not really thrilled with this chapter so I might be changing it around a little. And now I'm not so happy with how quickly things moved in the last one, either. As always, I thank everyone in advance for their reviews and especially their constructive criticism, since I'm new to this fandom and I think I need it!_ ----------- 

Pam went back to her desk and stared at her reflection in the monitor. She was thinking things she shouldn't have been, hateful things about her lack of fidelity to the man she'd spent the last ten years of her life with. Couldn't she have at least broken things off with him before practically crawling into the lap of another guy?

Jim walked back to her, glanced quickly at the clock, and muttered, "It's gonna be okay. Kelly says she won't tell anyone."

Pam looked up at him with tears in her eyes. "I give her ten minutes."

"Heh," he said. "Yeah. Me too. But you never know. We could get lucky." He paused. "I mean…wow, do I know how to say the wrong thing."

Pam laughed a little, and that made him feel better. He patted her hand. "We're going to be fine, okay?"

"Okay." She'd never said anything with so little conviction in her whole life.

"Here." He grabbed her a tissue. "Don't freak out, Pam. Be strong for me."

She nodded, dabbed at her eyes. "Yeah, okay."

"Everyone's going to be back in a minute, and then we've just got a few hours until…"

Until what? He wasn't sure what he was thinking. Until he could take her away on a white horse or something? The end of the workday was still the end of the workday, and they'd still be in Scranton and they'd still have to go home to their respective and oh-so-separate houses. Looking at Pam's expression, he suddenly knew exactly what _ she _was thinking.

_ …until I have to tell Roy. _

Jim took her hand in his own and was relieved when she didn't yank it back. "I'm really sorry, just so you know."

"Me too…for a lot of things. But none of them are really your fault."

There was a long silence. "I'm sorry," he said again.

She looked up at him, then back at her monitor. "I need to be alone now."

"Yeah," he said. "Okay." And he went to his desk to do his job, which had always seemed soul-sucking and pointless but had never seemed so completely so as it did that afternoon. A day without Pam laughing at his jokes and sending him goofy emails was a thousand years long, and it seemed longer still when he looked over at her and she very purposely did not look back. He wondered what she was thinking about, if she was able to think of anything without the risk of crumbling to her desk and sobbing like she had in his arms just yesterday.

An hour before work ended, she stood up and went into Michael's office, shut the door. Her voice was low and Jim couldn't make out what she was saying.

Michael opened his door for her as she left. "Don't worry, I'm hip—I had a mother!" He paused. "And _two_ sisters! That was some house, believe me!"

"Uh, thanks, Michael," Pam mumbled under her breath. Jim watched as she grabbed her purse off her desk and marched out without even glancing in his direction. Kelly's mouth opened in a "o" and she shot him several sympathetic looks. At her own desk, meanwhile, Angela raised her eyebrows and scribbled something down on a notepad.

_ That's nice, Kelly_Jim thought. _Real subtle._ At least she wasn't talking.


	4. About Pam Beesley

_ Quick note: I know that the current official spelling (according to NBC) of Pam's last name is actually "Beesly" but it WAS "Beesley" (as well as "Beasly") for a while and that's how she has it on her MySpace account. The point is that I've gotten used to spelling it this way and I hope nobody finds it annoying or distracting. _

When Pam drove home, she was crying but she didn't know it. She'd left without telling Roy—the idea of stopping by the warehouse to see him seemed both absurd and impossible; someone, she was sure, would let him know she'd left early. She entered the house they'd shared for years now and walked directly into the bedroom, still wearing her coat and carrying her purse, to look in the mirror over the vanity.

"Roy," she began, but her voice sounded ridiculous in the empty house and she had to start over.

"Roy, I think we should see other people."

_ Oh no, no, that couldn't possibly have been more wrong. Try again! _

She willed ferocity into her eyes, courage into her voice.

"Roy, I don't want to get married."

_ That's half of it, I guess. _ She looked around the room, vaguely wondering whether she should take out a suitcase and pack up a few things, if only to strengthen her conviction, to keep herself from forgetting what it was she needed to do. But the house was half hers—more than that, really, when she considered the fact that her aunt had left it to her.

_ And I don't want to leave. _ She paused. _ I'm not leaving. _

She turned back to the mirror, focused on her face. In less than an hour now, Roy would probably be walking through the door—that is, if he didn't choose to go out with Darryl after work. Part of her hoped he would, and an entirely different part wanted him home as soon as possible.

A picture of them sat next to the mirror and she picked it up, turned it over in her hands. It was a photo from high school—some dance that she wasn't even sure of anymore, homecoming or something. Roy was grinning and holding her waist in that ridiculously awkward way that the photographers at high school events always insisted on, and she was beaming. She remembered for the first time in years that she'd taken her glasses off for the photo and couldn't see a thing, and that Roy had slicked his hair back because she'd asked him to…that it was so stiff under her hands and he was so sheepish about having done it ("Hairstyles and crap is for chicks," he'd said) that she'd laughed and laughed.

_ Look at you, _ she thought. _ Ten years is an awful long time to throw away for a guy you work with. Only it isn't really about Jim, is it? It's about me. It's about Pam Beesley. _

And suddenly, it _ wasn't _ about Jim at all. It was about a little girl who wanted to grow up to be an artist and became a receptionist instead, a little girl who dreamed of traveling the world and had yet to leave the state more than twice. It was about a woman who'd been engaged for three years to a man who didn't look at her drawings and didn't listen to her ideas and who already spent entire weekends in an easy chair watching football games and asking her to get him more beer, please. He wasn't a terrible guy, but he was a guy who didn't want to leave Scranton, a guy who had peaked in high school and knew it and didn't really care. He'd seen what he needed to of the world…the rest of it didn't really interest him.

He could take care of her for the rest of her life, but he'd kill her in the process.

_ Jim just helped me to realize…what it is I need to do. _ She pounded her fist, once, on the vanity table with such verocity that it made her wince. _ Today. _

"Roy," she said. "This isn't working out."

And then she heard him.

"_ What_ isn't working out?"


End file.
